Miracle on 221B Baker Street
by The London Write
Summary: It's Christmas time in London, and John and Sherlock are about to spend a lonely awkward evening together. But there is a knock at the door, and a basket left on the door step. The basket holds a baby.


There was a ring at the door. Mrs. Hudson was gone and wouldn't answer it as per usual, so that meant Sherlock or John was going to have to do it. John looked up from his computer at Sherlock sitting on the couch opposite him. Sherlock did the same. They had a, what Sherlock started to call, eye conversation.

After an intense staring battle John gave in after he felt he received the threat of, "Go get the door, for my butt will not winkle from its current position, and it could be important." John sighed and put his computer down. He lifted himself up and left Sherlock in the flat as he made his way downstairs. John flattened his shirt on the way just in case it was someone at all of importance.

As he neared the door he cleared his throat. John reached for the handle. His fingers touched the cold knob, and he knew the second he opened the door that a freezing rush of frigged cold London air would wash over him. He creaked open the door. Fresh falling snow blew into the flat and covered John in an instant. He raised his arm over his eyes so he could see who it was and invite them in.

"Hello, what can I-" John stopped mid-sentence. No one was there. He assumed someone had rung the bell and ran as a prank. John shook his head. "Stupid kids." He said. He was about to close the door, when he heard a small cry. He looked down. To his astonishment, there was a basket of blankets. A moving, basket of blankets. John could see foot prints leading up to the door, and then the same ones running of in the other direction.

John leaned over and moved aside on of the blankets to see what was moving. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. A baby. Someone had left a baby on their front porch. John knew he had to get the baby out of the cold and into the warm comfort of the flat. He picked up the basket and held it close to his chest. He looked one last time. Across the street, up and down the road, but there was no one in sight.

John shut the door. He shivered. Wait. What had just happened? Could John even do this? Was this legal? It didn't matter to him at the moment. He would figure things out later. He put the basket down and kneeled next to it. Moving aside the blankets, he uncovered a face. It was the cutest, most pure thing John had ever seen.

The baby's face shined. It smiled at John, revealing not teeth, but his gums. How young was this child? John sighed. He didn't know exactly what to do. What would Sherlock say? John lifted the baby out of the basket and held him in his arms.

"Oh dear. Dear God. Why us? I mean we aren't even ideal to raise a child. Sherlock will probably kill him in some freak accident." The baby giggled. John couldn't help but stifle a little grin. What WOULD Sherlock say? How would he react? No doubt he would be upset and want it gone, out of his sight. John held on tighter to the child. He wouldn't let that happen.

John made his way up the stairs back to the flat. He prepared himself for an outburst. John opened the door and walked in, standing in the door frame, waiting. Sherlock looked up.

"Who was at the door?" John just stood there and stared at Sherlock trying to think of what to say. "What have you got in your arms?" Sherlock leaned forward removing his hands from his praying position.

"It's a. Umm." John held on to the bundle tightly. "Well." Just then the baby made a small sneeze. John froze as Sherlock looked at him and raised his eyebrow.

"Advert your attention to the question, and answer it." Sherlock stood up and crossed his arms. John took a step in the room.

"Someone left something on the porch." They walked to each other and met. Sherlock looked slightly confused. He looked at the bundle and slowly brought his hand up to the blanket. John held the baby out slightly. Sherlock moved the away as he saw the bright face shining before him.

"A baby!" Sherlock backed up farther away from them both. "Why the hell would someone leave a baby?! Get it out! Take it to an orphanage; we are NOT taking care of a distempered, chthonic baby that some clochard left on our steps!" The shouting startled the baby, and John pulled him back to his chest.

"I don't know what those words mean. But I know they're not kind. You don't have to take care of him, I'll do it all. I'm not taking him to an orphanage. Those places are terrible. He's staying." John began to walk to his room to get away from Sherlock.

"Perpend on the situation John. You are just being impetuous. You are going to realize caring for a child is exhausting and draining." Sherlock watched as John rushed to his room and slammed the door. He sat back down on the couch and resumed his position.

What an idiotic thing for John to do. Really he should just have taken the baby from him and removed it himself. He didn't want the child to get hurt. And he might, being in the presence of Sherlock. He wouldn't deny that. But, if John wanted to keep it, he would let him. But Sherlock was NOT going to help in anyway. ~~~

It was Christmas Eve, and John was out shopping getting the last minute things when he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone. A call from Sherlock. He answered it.

"Hello?"

"John. Your baby is crying and it refuses to stop. Get home immediately and shut it up." John could indeed hear the crying in the background.

"Sherlock. For the last time we've agreed to call him Hamish. And I'm getting groceries. Sherlock please help me with this?"

"It was your fault for leaving him here."

"He was asleep!"

"I'm not helping in anyway John. Come rescue your vermicular child on your own." And with that, Sherlock hung up the phone. John jammed his phone back in his pocket. Sherlock was being a self-centered prick. He could help just a little. JUST A LITTLE! And yet he was the same jerk he always had been.

John rushed to the front counter and paid the cashier. She smiled and said 'Happy Christmas', but John grunted and rushed away. He needed to get back to the flat as soon as he could. Sherlock could become cross with Hamish and do something drastic. He wasn't one to cope with anger.

John hailed a taxi and hopped in.

"221B Baker Street." The cab lurched forward and John looked out the window. He hoped the got there quickly.

About 15 minutes later the cabbie pulled up to the steps. John paid him and stumbled out cursing. The traffic had been awful. It should have taken ten minutes at the most. John opened the door and walked in. He placed all the bags on the floor and would come back for them later. First he would deal with Hamish.

He made his way up the stairs. As he neared the door to their flat he expected to hear yelling or screaming and crying. But all was silent. Slightly concerned John creaked open the door and stuck his head in. To his surprise and astonishment, there was Sherlock laying on the couch, and Hamish lying on his chest, both fast asleep.

"Oh my God." John said under his breath. He walked in and looked at them, both so peaceful. Both of their faces so calm and perfect. He sat down quietly in the chair across from them so he could watch this unusual spectacle of compassion. What in interesting miracle. A miracle at 221B Baker street none the less.


End file.
